The Ballad of the Sun and the Wolf
by IWantColouredRain
Summary: Prequel to my A Song of Vengeance
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter One**

**Pre-Robert's Rebellion**

_**The Eyrie: 12**__**th**__** February, 269 AC**_

Oberyn was less than impressed by his first sight of the Eyrie. It was cold and dull, nothing like Sunspear's bright decorations and warmth.

He couldn't understand why Uncle Lewyn had insisted that he come and foster under the guardianship of Lord Arryn, of all people. If he had to be fostered out, and he didn't see why it was necessary in the first place, then why couldn't it be to a Dornish family? And what was he supposed to do without Elia around to play with? Lord Arryn had no children, and the Eyrie looked like a very boring place.

Oberyn was just starting his life, he wanted to have fun. By the sounds of it, Lord Arryn was a very uptight man, and Oberyn feared he would make him spend all of his time studying instead of living life to the fullest, the way Father had said that a young lord was meant to.

"Welcome, Lord Oberyn," Lord Arryn greeted him with a smile. He had a broad frame, blonde hair turned mostly to grey with blue eyes, filled with a sharp intelligence that made Oberyn think of his elder brother and uncle, and an aquiline nose. "I am Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale. This is my nephew, and my heir, Elbert Arryn."

Elbert was about three years older than Oberyn, with the same blonde hair and nose as his uncle, but he was slimmer and had green eyes instead of blue. He gave Oberyn a rather indifferent nod, clearly wanting to get things over with.

"I am unsure if you are aware already or not," Lord Arryn stated a little while later as he guided Oberyn to his new chambers. "But I have also agreed to foster Robert Baratheon, who is heir to the Stormlands and a year younger than you. He is due to arrive within the month."

"Alright," Oberyn muttered sullenly. He was already homesick for Dorne. He wanted his mother's smile, his father's patient instruction and his sister's loving and constant companionship. He wanted Doran's subtle encouragement and covering for his mischief, and even Uncle Lewyn's familiar, imposing presence.

And the other ward was a _Stormlander_. One of his people's ancient enemies. Oberyn had no doubt that he would get along not at all with the future Lord of Storm's End. After all, their people had been at war, on and off, for centuries.

Surely, he and Robert would be the same.

Oberyn almost pitied Lord Arryn for the fights that he would be spending the next few years constantly breaking up between himself and Baratheon.

* * *

_**The Eyrie: 26**__**th**__** February, 269 AC**_

Oberyn turned out to be completely wrong on his guess as to how well he and Robert Baratheon would get along with one another. Though not quite as wrong as to the fights. Within the first few minutes of meeting each other, the pair got into a fierce fistfight that only ended with Lord Arryn and a guard's intervention, the two men pulling the pair of children apart.

Oberyn panted as he squirmed in Arryn's grip, eyeing the other child as best he could despite the blood leaking into his eye. The younger boy had fought well, but Oberyn had definitely been the victor, given he had gotten Robert into a headlock just before they were separated, and the boy had been unable to escape it.

"I'm Robert," the black-haired boy introduced himself with a bright grin, holding out his hand. "And if that's how you Dornish greet everyone when you first meet them, then I want to visit there."

Oberyn felt a mischievous grin spread across his face as he clasped Robert's hand. Elbert, the only other companion he had here, was several years older than him at one-and-ten and focused on his own things, disinclined to spend time with an eight-year-old. Oberyn had been bored to tears without a playmate, in spite of Lord Arryn's surprising ability to make lessons actually interesting.

"Oberyn," he introduced himself. "And if you think _that_ was a good welcome, come to Dorne and I'll show you a _proper _one."

Robert's grin broadened. "Or you can come to the Stormlands," he suggested. "We have great ways to greet foreigners there."

"Fist fights may be how greetings are done in Dorne and the Stormlands," Lord Arryn chided them, though his eyes were more fond than annoyed. "But here in the _Vale_, we do not introduce ourselves to others with our fists, we use our _words_ instead. However, given how fond you both appear to be of using your hands, you can spend the evening helping muck out the stables. I am sure it will be an excellent bonding experience for you both."

The pair groaned in mutual dismay, exchanging grimaces of sympathy with each other.

With that one act, their lifelong friendship was sealed forever.

* * *

_**Sunspear: 20**__**th**__** September, 280 AC**_

"What do you think of him?" Doran asked his sister after she called permission for him to enter her rooms and joined her on the balcony.

Elia hummed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and not removing her gaze from the sea below them. "He seems to be a kind man," she said neutrally. "A Lord Paramount, strong and an excellent warrior. Oberyn thinks the world of him, and he is good with Arianne, and apparently even with baby Obara and his own little daughter. He will be a good father, I expect."

They had been shocked and stricken when Oberyn had written to them several moons past, announcing that he had claimed and taken custody of his infant bastard daughter, the child of a whore. They had only met the infant this day, as little Obara had been too young to travel up until now. Oberyn had seemingly decided to kill two birds with one stone, and brought his best friend along on the trip to introduce his siblings to his young daughter so that Robert could present his suit for Elia's hand in person.

"But you are dissatisfied." It was a statement, not a guess or a question.

As young children, before the late Lord Lewyn had sent his younger nephew to the Vale, Elia and Oberyn had been inseparable. After that, Doran had found, much to his bemusement, that Elia had turned to him for company, in spite of their age difference. His solemn and introverted younger sister had followed after him quietly, observing him preforming his duties, shyly asking to help and listening to him read to her. By now, _he_ was the sibling she was closest to, not Oberyn. At this point, Doran knew Elia better than anybody, even her best friend Ashara.

"I have no reason to be disappointed, it is an excellent match for me," Elia replied, dodging the implied question. "And he has been very kind to me."

_That _was certainly true, Doran mused. Robert had been doing his very best to charm Elia, conversing with her on her likes and dislikes, sharing stories of himself, coaxing the slightly-timid lady out of Sunspear for walks or rides. Knowing of her often-fragile health, he had been very solicitous of it, fetching her drinks frequently, inquiring as to how she felt. He seemed to have genuine feelings for the lady he had previously only known through Oberyn's tales.

"Then why are you dissatisfied?" Doran asked her seriously. He didn't want Elia to be trapped in a loveless marriage, even if it brought such good advantages to their kingdom.

Elia sighed, looking down glumly at the marble ledge of her balcony and tracing meaningless patterns on it.

"Ashara's betrothed is the heir to Winterfell, do you recall?" she questioned him softly.

"I do, yes," Doran agreed.

He briefly regretted that he had not pursued the possibility of arranging for Elia to marry Eddard Stark instead. The man had been calm, intelligent and was now the heir to the most powerful of the kingdoms, not to mention goodbrother to the Crown Prince. It would have been a fine match. But at the time of the young magnar's visit to Dorne for a trade discussion, Doran had only just become Lord of Dorne, and he had yet to put any thought into his sister's marriage, and Eddard's brother Brandon had yet to join the Kingsguard, meaning that it would not have been so advantageous, given they had no idea what, if any, lands the man was going to inherit. Then Eddard had laid eyes on Ashara, and it had seemingly been love at first sight for the both of them.

"Magnar Eddard seems to worship the ground Ashara's feet walk on," Elia murmured wistfully. "It reminds me of how devoted Uncle Lewyn was to Aunt Mariya. She never bore a single child for him, yet I never saw him even _look_ at another woman. And Father and Mother were deeply in love with one another as well. I hoped... I hoped for a marriage like yours and Mellario's, like their marriages. I had always hoped to marry a man who would love _me_, and me alone."

That was certainly not something that Robert appeared to be capable of. He and Oberyn had been at Sunspear but a week, and already the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands had bedded over ten different women, both whores and serving girls alike. He philandered and flirted out of Elia's sight, but she knew anyway. That Oberyn did the same only encouraged Elia's suitor.

"And there is the matter of his daughter," Elia went on, still gazing out over the sea. "I bear no ill will towards the girl, I truly do not. But what if he were to have a bastard son, one older than the sons that I may bare for him, and acknowledges the boy? What if my child inherits my weakness, and then his inheritance was then threatened by his half-brother because of it?"

"I can always refuse his offer," Doran told her softly. "But, Elia, you are twenty namedays now. You will not get another offer like this one."

She had received many offers, both from within Dorne and without, during her younger years. But at the time their uncle was in charge of them, both due to their parents' deaths when Oberyn was twelve, and as they were the heirs to House Martell, even having received the Martell name. Lord Lewyn fearing for the health of the niece he loved as his own daughter if she were too try and bare children too young, had refused them all. Now, the suitors who had been interested in her several years ago had either wed another already, or had turned their interest to other ladies, who were younger and would have more time to bear them heirs.

"I know," Elia sighed, shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Do not fear, sweet sister," Doran urged her, reaching out to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "He loves you already, or believes that he does. A solid relationship will come with time. Once you are wed, I doubt he will ever even want to look at another woman."

"That is a sweet sentiment, Brother," Elia answered. "But love cannot change a man's nature. Few people are lucky enough to find a love like yours and Mellario's."

Doran leaned in to kiss her cheek softly. "One day, Sister," he stated. "You will be the most beloved lady in the Seven Kingdoms. You will be so loved that wars will be fought over you."

Elia smiled sadly at that, but did not reply, turning to look out over the waves again. "Do you know if there are beaches near Storm's End?" she asked softly, laying her head on her elder brother's shoulder as he tugged her close to his side.

"I am not sure," Doran admitted. "But I know that it is beside the sea."

"Good," Elia replied softly. "I love the ocean so dearly, I do not know what I would do if I were unable to look at it every day. I hope that the weather there is good. I should miss going swimming after I am wed."

"So, I shall accept his proposal then?" Doran confirmed.

Elia squared her shoulders, looking up at him with a brave smile that failed to fully hide the sorrow in her eyes. "Yes," she confirmed. "You shall."

* * *

_**Harrenhal: 3**__**rd**__** August, 281 AC**_

"What will we do now?" Lyanna's expression was pinched with worry, as were the rest of the groups. They looked at Rhaegar, awaiting the prince's decision.

Rhaegar grimaced, trying to hide his worry and maintain the appearance of being a perfectly composed prince for their sake. These were his dearest friends, yes, his most trusted advisors. But at the end of the day, Rhaegar was the future king, the leader. And as their leader, he needed to portray a confident demeanour. Only Lyanna was ever allowed to fully see beneath his mask, but he had been trying to keep her from seeing his stress since she had announced her pregnancy. She had enough worries on her plate without shouldering his own as well.

He knew that it bothered and hurt her that he had pulled away from her since her pregnancy was announced, but he couldn't bring himself to put more stress on her. Memories of his mother's many troubles with childbearing haunted him, as did the fact that his bloodline had been so reduced. They, the realm, needed their child to be born safely, and adding to Lya's own stress would put that in danger.

"There is nothing to be done," Rhaegar sighed resignedly. All of that preparation and coin, wasted. No doubt that blasted Essosi eunuch that his father had employed as his new Master of Whispers was at fault for it. He must have found out about their plans to overthrow his father and warned him, causing the mad king to decide to leave the safety of the Red Keep for the first time since Brandon had saved him from Duskendale, receiving a place in the Kingsguard as reward for his brave actions. "We shall have to cancel our plans for the Great Council," he continued. "We cannot hold it with Father here. The risk is too great."

"We can still take the opportunity to sound out the nobles," Lyanna suggested, reaching out to grip his hand. He smiled at her automatically, though he knew it did not reach his eyes.

He had been blessed with his marriage, he knew. He was stressed enough already, trying to keep the realm from falling apart under his father's ever-growing insanity. If he'd had to be worrying constantly over his wife's safety and health, he'd have gone mad too. Instead, he had a _partner_, not another dependant. He loved her for that as much as everything else.

"Yes," Jon spoke up. "I am concerned about this great alliance that has formed."

"Which alliance is that?" Barbrey spoke up, frowning as she leaned against Brandon's side. Rhaegar briefly wondered where Melara was, then dismissed it, assuming that the child was napping after the journey, under the supervision of her vigilant nurse.

"The Vale-Dornish-Stormlands one," Ned clarified. "And possibly with the West and/or Riverlands to join it also."

"Explain it to me," Barbrey requested, with a frown. "I still fail to understand what you are speaking of."

"Lord Arryn fostered Robert Baratheon and Oberyn Martell," Aly spoke up.

It sometimes disconcerted Rhaegar, how alike his wife and goodsister were in appearance, though when it came to personalities, Lya was the wilder, bolder one, (though that was not to say that she was not the perfect lady in public. His mother and late goodmother, along with her governesses, had all taught the Stark girls well) whilst Aly was the more shrewd and softer spoken. Both of them were the bravest and most compassionate ladies Rhaegar had ever met, save for his dear mother. But when it came to appearance, the only way you could tell one from the other was that Lyanna typically wore red and black since their wedding, and her stomach was starting to swell with their babe. That, and the fact that whilst the twins were identical, their ever-present direwolf companions were not. Even the girls' voices were alike.

Rhaegar was quietly relieved for their different clothing styles and wolves, otherwise he might have mistaken his wife for her twin at some point, which would have been utterly humiliating for all of them.

"Lord Baratheon is now betrothed to Lady Elia Martell," his goodsister continued, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "And I have heard that Lord Tully is in talks with Lord Arryn to wed his younger daughter to Lord Elbert Arryn, the heir to the Vale, and Lord Tywin, to marry Lady Catelyn to Lord Jaime. If those betrothals are made, then that's Dorne, the Vale, the West, the Stormlands and the Riverlands, all allied with each other. They would have a great deal of power."

Perhaps even enough power to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty, Rhaegar added silently. He shuddered at the thought, but it was a genuinely plausible one. After all, they no longer had dragons. Only tradition and determination kept them on their throne.

Everyone was silent and grim, no doubt detecting the hidden message.

"Well," Rhaegar cleared his throat. "There is nought more to be done for now. See what you can do to learn about the nobles' thoughts and loyalties, if you can. But take great care not to anger my father. Do nothing to arouse his suspicion."

They all nodded, pale at the thought of what would happen should Aerys be aggravated. They had managed to keep his new tendency to burn people alive with wildfire confined to Black Cell prisoners, but Rhaegar was under no illusions as to their ability to keep it that way for long.

He needed to figure out a way to remove his father from power, a way that would not undermine the power of his House, and he needed to do it soon.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

Rhaegar truly had not meant to hurt Lyanna. He really did love her. She was his wife, a good and dutiful one at that, and she was carrying his child, his heir.

But the night before, he had bumped into Elia Martell in the sept, finding her upset and troubled, searching for guidance from the gods. Rhaegar's chivalry had driven him to seek to cheer her up, and they had started to talk. He had never felt so comfortable talking to anybody except Lya, not even Jon or Arthur.

And then after knocking Ser Barristan to the ground, before even _he_ realized what he was doing, he had ridden past his pregnant wife and crowned a lady betrothed to his cousin as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Now, taking in the fury on his goodfamily's faces, and seeing the tears staining his wife's cheeks, the guilt that he felt nearly choked him. He had never seen Lya so upset before. She had never cried in all his memory.

"I ought to kill you myself!" Brandon yelled, the Wild Wolf's expression twisted into rage. Arthur moved to put himself between his Sworn Brother and Prince, but Rhaegar stopped him.

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "You should. I would not blame you for it, at any rate." He went to where his wife was being held protectively by her twin, and went down on his knees before her. "Lyanna, I am so _very_ sorry," he apologized, putting every last ounce of sincerity into his voice.

"Why?" she hiccupped, eyes the colour of steel and swimming with tears she was struggling not to shed. "Why would you do this to me? Have I done something to deserve such humiliation? Have I been a bad wife to you?"

"No!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hands and kissing them. "Lya, you have been my closest friend, my most trusted advisor, since before we wed. I just- I did not think."

She scoffed, hurt and anger darkening her lovely expression. "So, my lord husband, your instinct is to humiliate me before half the realm?"

He winced at that and shook his head frantically in denial. He wished that they were alone. His goodsiblings were all glowering at him, and he had no doubt that it was only his Kingsguard oaths and Ned's hands holding him back that kept Brandon from attacking him.

"No, it is just," he exhaled, briefly closing his eyes. "Last night, I came across Lady Elia upset in the sept. I wished, I wished to cheer her. I did not think. I swear Lya, by the Seven and by the Old Gods, that I did not think it through. The last thing I wished to do was hurt you. I love you, I truly do."

She slapped him, hard enough that his head snapped painfully to the side. He looked back at her solemnly and bowed his head before her.

"I deserved that," he acknowledged.

She sniffed, hurt still shining in her lovely eyes. "Yes you did," she agreed. Her lovely grey eyes softened after that. "You are my husband, and I love you," she said. "But never, _ever _shame me like that again."

"I will not," he vowed, meaning it with all his heart.

But some weeks later, he woke from a nightmare and found himself penning a letter to Elia Martell, pouring out the stresses and worries he felt unable to speak to his close friends, who relied on him, to her. And after she replied, he kept doing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**This was originally one part, but then it grew too much and so now it's two.**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Two**

**Robert's Rebellion I**

_**The Eyrie: 22**__**nd**__** February, 282 AC**_

"Oberyn," Jon called to him, drawing his attention from the training post he was hacking at. His foster father looked grim as he waved Oberyn over. "Come here."

Oberyn quickly dashed over. "What is it?" he demanded urgently. "Is it Elia? Has Rhaegar harmed her? If _one hair_ on her head is out of place, I will-"

It had been half-a moon since Elia and Crown Prince Rhaegar had both disappeared from Summerhall on their way to Storm's End. When news had arrived, Oberyn and Robert had been about to leave for their own boat at Gulltown to go and attend the wedding. They had returned to the Eyrie on Doran's instructions. The Lord of Dorne was headed to the capital with his wife and daughter in order to sort everything out. Oberyn and Robert had both been tense and frantic ever since news had arrived, taking their anger and fear out in the sparring ring. They could both only assume that Elia had been kidnapped by Rhaegar. Everyone had thought that the madness that ran through the Targaryen line had skipped him, but it seemed not.

Jon knew that chopping a few straw dummies into pieces, or even spending time with his two daughters, three-year-old Obara and the infant Sarella Sand, would not be remotely enough to calm Oberyn's rage at the news that Jon had for him.

"Hush, Oberyn," Jon lifted a hand to cut off the flow of questions. His expression was grave as he looked at his elder fosterling (well, former fosterling to be technical, but despite being twenty-and-one and a father now, Oberyn still spent most of his time in the Vale).

"Come with me to my solar," he ordered the young man quietly. "This is not a discussion for us to have in public."

The lad would be distraught by Jon's news. He needed to be able to break down, but he couldn't do that in public. It had been appropriate before this, but now that he was the new Lord Paramount of Dorne, he needed to maintain his composure in public, or people would seek to take advantage. Jon had given lessons to Robert on being a ruler (though the young man had never been very interested in them), but none to Oberyn, and he dearly regretted that fact now.

Oberyn was clearly anxious and frustrated, but he remained obediently silent as his foster father led him to the Lord's Solar of the Eyrie.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

"So?" Oberyn demanded impatiently, as soon as the door to the solar shut. He looked at his foster father as he paced the room restlessly. "Have you received word of my sister?"

"No," Jon shook his head. The look in his eyes made Oberyn nervous. It was a sorrowful one, one given to someone who had just suffered a tragedy. Why was it being directed towards him?

"No," Jon repeated. "I have no news of Elia, unfortunately. This is, it's about your brother."

"Doran?" Oberyn asked, frowning in confusion. "What about him? He went to King's Landing, to ask King Aerys to order Rhaegar to return Elia." Anxiety at Jon's expression caused him to ramble, saying what the other man already knew.

"I know," Jon confirmed, bowing his head. "But when he arrived-I am sorry Oberyn, there is no easy way to tell you this."

"Tell me what?" Oberyn croaked out. He stopped prowling the length of the room and stood before Jon's desk, the way he and Robert had done a thousand times as boys, waiting for Jon's punishment after some bout of mischief or another. Dread coiled within his chest, and a part of him had already realized what his foster father was going to say, though his mind refused to acknowledge the truth of it.

"Doran, Mellario and their daughter are dead," Jon announced quietly.

Oberyn's knees gave in, and he had to grab the chair to keep from collapsing completely to the floor. "Impossible," he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "You're wrong. Doran-Doran cannot be dead. Doran is my brother, Lord of Dorne. Arianne is only a little girl. They are not dead, I do not believe you. They can't be-it's impossible, Doran is not dead."

Jon came back around the desk and knelt at Oberyn's side, expression filled with sympathy. "When they arrived at King's Landing, Aerys had them imprisoned for treason," he explained gently. "He has accused the Martells of plotting against the Crown. Your brother called for trial by combat and Aerys-he made a mockery of it. He named wildfire as his champion, and had Mellario and Arianne burned alive whilst Doran was strangled to death by a noose, trying to reach a sword just out of reach so that he might save them."

Oberyn shook his head in disbelief and grief. He felt ill. It seemed impossible. Doran was the Lord of Dorne, a master of the Game. Arianne was only a little girl, just a few years older than Obara. How could they be dead? How could Aerys have murdered his family, and in such a brutal way? He could not comprehend it.

"Aerys has declared yourself and Robert as traitors," Jon continued. "He has ordered that I send him your heads, as proof of my fealty."

"What will you do?" Oberyn asked blankly, Jon's words barely registering. Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked to Jon in panic. "My daughters-"

"There was no mention of them," Jon promised. "They are bastards, and girls besides. Even Aerys is not mad enough to think of them as a threat."

Oberyn slumped in relief to learn that his girls at least were not being threatened by the Mad King's death.

"As for what I intend to do," Jon continued steadily. "I have already sent letters out to call my banners. I will not allow Aerys to harm you or Robert. I swore to care for and protect you both as my own sons, and I will not fail that oath."

"Thank you," Oberyn whispered.

"You must go to Dorne," Jon told him seriously, urging him to his feet. "As quick as you can. Call your banners from Sunspear."

Oberyn nearly said that he could not call the banners, only the Head of House Martell could do so. Then he recalled that Doran was gone, so he was now the Head of his House. His House that had, in a single day, been reduced to himself, Elia who was Gods only knew where, and his second cousin Manfrey.

"Robert will help," he stated instead. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "But three kingdoms against the rest? And not all of our vassals may agree to take up arms against the Crown, even if ordered by their lieges."

Jon nodded briskly. "But if we get the Riverlands on our side, and take the Crown forces by surprise, before they have a chance to scramble their own banners, then we have a chance," he stated.

"How will we get the Riverlands to help us?" Oberyn asked blankly. He felt as if the world was moving too fast for him to keep with. Doran had been a far better thinker than he was. Oberyn had always been more of a doer. But Doran was dead now. Dead, and Oberyn would never see him again, never introduce him to Sarella. Not to mention his little niece. The letter announcing Mellario's pregnancy had arrived only a few weeks before news of Elia's disappearance.

Gods, how could Doran really be gone? Oberyn simply couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Elbert is betrothed to Lysa Tully," Jon reminded his charge softly, understanding why Oberyn was so out-of-touch with reality. "Oberyn, I know that you are struggling right now," he stated seriously. "But you must push through it. Time is of the essence, if we wish to defeat the Crown."

"We will," Oberyn vowed, anger starting to flicker to life within his chest. Elia was missing, and Doran and his family were dead, and all of it was the dragons' fault. Rhaegar had taken Elia, and Aerys had killed Doran, Mellario and Arianne. "I am going to make them pay for what they did," he swore, expression darkening.

"Yes," Jon agreed. "They will."

* * *

_**Winterfell: 14**__**th**__** March, 282 AC**_

Aly was escorted from White Harbour to Winterfell under a heavy guard, about double what she had originally expected to be sent for her.

But given they were apparently at war, her father and brother just awaiting her arrival to go and join their men, then it made sense. No enemy army had ever managed to breach the North before, but assassins and kidnappers most certainly had. Given that Aly was the daughter of the Magnar of the Winterlands and goodsister to the Crown Prince, she would be a valuable target for the ransoms whilst she was in transit to her home. They put her and Arrana in a small wheelhouse the moment they disembarked, and they had not stopped moving since, her guards swapping at every garrison so she always had fresh protectors and didn't need to pause to let them rest. The new guards would be already waiting for them on arrival, so they merely paused to exchange the horses and allow the new guards to get into formation before continuing on again. Aly and Arrana slept and ate dried rations in the carriage.

She arrived at Winterfell only four days after leaving White Harbour, less than half the usual time.

Her father, brother and goodsister were all waiting for her in her father's solar where she went as soon as she arrived. There was strain and worry in all of their countenances. Aly felt her already high stress levels increase. Lord Manderly and the guards had given little information to her. She didn't think they actually knew more than what they'd told her, which was that the Vale had called its banners against the Crown whilst she was at sea. She could easily guess that at the very least the Stormlands and probably Dorne and the Riverlands would be joining them. The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands was Lord Arryn's foster son, after all, and he was betrothed to Elia Martell, whose brother was also one of Arryn's fosterlings. Arryn's heir was betrothed to Tully's younger daughter. If the marriage went through despite the rebellion, then the Tullys would be obliged to aid their goodfamily.

Aly had known as soon as she'd learned of the alliance forming that it was a potential danger. But what she failed to understand was what had caused this rebellion. What fit of insanity had Aerys done to make the honourable Jon Arryn declare against his lords?

Her father, after they had all greeted her and been assured of her health and safety on her trip, explained, his jaw tight and anger burning in his steel-coloured eyes.

"Rhaegar met with Lady Elia Martell and the rest of her entourage when they stopped at Summerhall to rest as they made their way to Storm's End for her wedding to Lord Baratheon," Father explained stonily.

Aly felt her stomach drop, dread and disbelief choking her. "But Lyanna was still abed recovering when I left," she protested. Rhaegar had left Lya's side whilst she was not yet risen from the birthing bed, in order to meet with another lady with whom he had shamed her sister last year?

The other's expressions darkened further. "I am aware," Father agreed curtly. "He left for what he claimed was urgent business. But the day after they met at Summerhall, he, Lady Elia, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, and the lady's maid, all disappeared. As far as anybody can tell, they have run off together. Lord Doran made his way to the capital with his wife and child to ask the king for his sister to be returned."

Aly flinched at that, guessing what happened from her knowledge of Aerys. Her fears were confirmed when her father went on to explain the Martells' brutal murders. It was truly sickening, though Aly had become almost numb to Aerys' atrocities, in that she was able to disconnect from her horror and think through the political implications, in the past few years. She knew she would have a new set of nightmares added to her mental archive now, however.

"Lord Arryn called his banners in response to Aerys' demand for Robert Baratheon and Oberyn Martell's heads," Father continued stoically. "The king has ordered we call our own banners and put them down."

"Is it Aerys they are rebelling against, or the whole House?" Aly asked anxiously, stomach twisting anxiously. She knew the answer was important.

If it was only Aerys that they fought against, then Rhaegar could hopefully sue for peace and convince them to help him remove Aerys from the Iron Throne. Of course, Elia Martell would have to be returned, but if Aly never heard the whore's name again, it would be millennia too soon. It seemed that Rhaegar had lied when he swore to Lyanna that she meant nothing to him.

But if it was the Targaryens as a whole that the rebels had declared against, then her sister and Lya's newborn babes were in grave danger, especially little Aegon. If the rebels sought to remove the dragons from the Iron Throne, they were unlikely to suffer Aegon and Viserys to live. Lya, in turn, would never stand back and allow her child to be killed. She would fight to her last breath to defend them.

_Please Gods,_ Aly prayed. _Let it only be Aerys they seek to remove, not the whole House. Please._

The others exchanged grim looks that made her heart sink before her father again spoke. "So far, they have not specified. However they are accusing Rhaegar of kidnapping and raping Lady Elia-"

"That is ridiculous!" Aly exclaimed. "Rhaegar would never-"

"_We_ know that," Ashara spoke up, drawn and pale with a hand covering her stomach. If it had begun to swell yet, then it was covered by her dress. "But_ they _do not. They have never interacted with Rhaegar. To play the devil's advocate, I do genuinely believe from my knowledge of Oberyn that they believe what they say. They are not simply attempting to cover for El, Elia's reputation."

Aly recalled that Ashara had been a close friend to Lady Elia, prior to wedding and moving to Winterfell with Ned. Yet she could find no sympathy for her goodsister, only fury at the whore who had absconded with her sister's husband and triggered a war in the process.

"At any rate, it matters not whether they believe it or not," Father interrupted briskly. "That is their story. The greenseers predict that within the next few moons, Robert Baratheon will be declared king by the rebels."

"So, it is to be war then?" Aly asked. She knew it was a stupid question, but she could not help it, as if they would assure that no, it was not a real war, only a brief uprising that would swiftly die out. If that was truly her desire, she did not receive it.

"Aye," Ned confirmed, speaking for the first time since greeting her. "Our border forces have already begun to march for the Vale, and we have ordered the Three Sisters' fleet to blockade the Vale coast. Gulltown has turned against Lord Arryn and declared for the Crown, so by the Gods' grace we can trap Arryn's forces in the Vale by blocking him from the Coast and cutting off the Bloody Gate. We won't be able to breach it, but hopefully we can get our men there before he does, and trap the rebels within."

"Ned and I shall march at dawn," Father added. "You will be the Stark in Winterfell during this war."

"Father, no!" Aly objected. "I must return to Dragonstone! Lyanna needs-"

"Lyanna is being sent to the capital along with the children, Benjen and her household," Father replied, voice tight.

"Aerys wants her as a hostage," Aly whispered, paling.

Her father, her strong, unyielding and undefeatable father, sighed and looked down, shoulders slumped resignedly. Only for a minute, however, before he returned his gaze to her, any traces of weaknesses once again hidden.

"I will not send a fourth child into that madman's hands," he declared flatly. "Already he has your sister, Brand and Ben, not to mention the babes. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. A Stark of the blood, not merely the name. Your goodsister is yet to fully learn our ways, though she is making great strides. The pair of you will rule the Winterlands for me, until our return."

"And if you do not return?" Her voice could barely be heard, it was so quiet. Ashara winced and whimpered, reaching out to clutch Ned's hand tightly as she cradled her stomach. He raised it to his lips to kiss it comfortingly.

"Then consult the greenseers and obey their advice," the Magnar replied bluntly. "And above all, have faith in the Gods. They have laid out our paths long ago, and we mortals can do nought more than follow them."

"Yes, my lord," Aly's voice shook against her best efforts as she spoke.

She and Ashara waved off Rickard and Ned the next day, even before the sun had started to rise. She never saw her father again.

* * *

_13__th__ April, 282 AC_

_Northron flagship: The Wolf's Fang_

_The Narrow Sea_

_Dear Aly,_

_Father is dead. _

_We won the battle of Gulltown, and repelled the rebels. However, Robert Baratheon and Oberyn Martell escaped to go and call their banners. I am now headed for the Reach on the advice of the greenseers, who predict that Baratheon will, after gathering his men, aim to take control of Ashford and thus the Reach's supply and reinforcement lines. I am also sending a certain amount of reinforcements to help the loyalist Stormlanders. At the least, we can hamper his efforts, thin his host out and take the time to allow the Reach to finish organizing its army. Then, we can create a trap at Ashford, and hopefully kill Baratheon._

_Remember not to leave Winterfell, where you and Ashara are safe. Ensure the coasts are guarded, in case the rebels risk attacking by sea. Give my love to my wife and daughter. Gods be good, this war will be over before the babe is born, and I will be there for it._

_All my love to you all. Be safe._

_Eddard Stark, Magnar of the Winterlands, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell._

* * *

_**Ashford: 20**__**th**__** July, 282 AC**_

"Magnar Stark!" Ned suppressed a flinch at the title.

Magnar Rickard Stark was dead, and Ned was no longer Magnar Eddard, heir to Winterfell. Now, he was Magnar Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Magnar of the Winterlands, and the Warden of the North. Although his father's sacrifice had allowed them to win the battle and secure control of the Vale's harbours, it still pained Ned greatly. It was made worse by the fact that, though they had gotten control of the Vale's coasts, they had failed to keep Arryn's armies from leaving the Vale and entering the Riverlands. He had chosen, instead of using the blockaded Bloody Gate, to go the riskier route of taking the Mountains of the Moon. It had delayed the Valemen, but the Winterlands simply weren't able to block the Mountains. They were too vast, the terrain completely unfamiliar to the Northrons.

Although the Battle of Gulltown was officially a victory for the royalist forces, it did not feel like it to Ned. His father had died, and Baratheon and Martell had escaped to return to their kingdoms and call their banners, meaning that this was no longer a small uprising, but a deadly threat to the Crown, even if Aerys was too mad to understand that fact. Ned sympathized with the rebels to an extent, and he knew that he'd do the same if he were in their positions. But he was not, and his brothers and sister, along with Lya and Brand's children, were all in Aerys' hands. As much as he commiserated with the rebels, he had to put them down, for his family's sakes.

"Yes?" he asked the lad. It was a Reachman. Well, a Reach_boy_ really. He could not be more than three-and-ten, if that. Too young to be a part of a war, in Ned's opinion. He had always hoped to avoid a war, but they had all known it was coming.

None of them had ever guessed what would trigger it, however. How could Rhaegar have abandoned his loving wife and children for a betrothed Dornishwoman? It was enraging and insulting, and he worried how Lya was dealing with the knowledge of her beloved husband's betrayal. Ned spitefully hoped the both of them saw what they had caused, and were crippled with guilt.

"The scouts have uncovered the way that Baratheon is heading!" the boy announced. "Lord Tarly requests that you meet him in the command tent right away!"

"I will go immediately," Ned assured the lad. "My thanks."

He did as he said, hastening for the command pavilion in the centre of Ashford. They had secured control of it, his army arriving just in time to prevent the town's defenders being overwhelmed by the combination, after taking a ship and following the greenseers' advice.

But though they had won this battle, Ned knew that the war was far from over. What especially worried him was that only the Reach and the North were fully supporting the Crownlands. His own army was always prepared to march, but it took time to move an army. Time that Ned feared they didn't have. Usually there was warning before a war, time for them to move and prepare, but this had all come with shocking suddenness and they were scrambling to deal with it.

The North could, at most, field an army of seventy-five thousand swords. The Reach could field another seventy thousand if given the time. But they had not received that time, and Ned and Rickard had only had the chance to call up the main force of fifty thousand, of which twenty thousand was still marching, and the other thirty thousand were scattered, with ten thousand still fighting in the Vale, ten fighting in the Riverlands and the rest were here with Ned. Another ten thousand were being raised, but it would take them time to march from their garrisons in the far North to be close enough to be of help.

Ned knew, even without the greenseers' predictions, that it would not be enough. Not with the Vale, Dorne and Stormlands united against them. And as Hoster Tully's daughter was betrothed to Elbert Arryn, Ned was expecting them to join the rebels also. No doubt the man was merely attempting to squeeze as many bonuses from the rebels as he could before declaring in their favour.

If the West would join the royalists, the rebellion would be crushed instantly. The three largest and best-trained armies, combined with the Crownlander army, would be enough to defeat the rebellion. But Ned knew that was unlikely to happen. Tywin Lannister was a proud man, and Aerys had insulted that pride. With his eldest son (whom he still considered to be his heir) in the Red Keep, Ned was sure that the Old Lion would not join the rebels, but he wouldn't help the Crown either.

Ned could only pray that the combination of his army and that of the Reach and Crownlands would be enough.

He arrived at the command tent and greeted Tarly. Ned did not particularly like the man, but he did respect him.

"Lord Tully," Tarly got right down to business, looking annoyed at the mention of his liege lord. "Has decided to besiege Storm's End. He will be taking the host and going there immediately."

Ned hissed at that. "The entire host?" he demanded. Tarly's lips twisted bitterly.

"Three-quarters," he corrected him curtly. "The rest he leaves under my command, to help subdue the remainder of the rebels."

Ned had to bite through his tongue to keep from damning the idiot rose lord to the bottom of the Andal seven hells. The worst thing, Ned thought darkly. Was that Lord Tyrell was stupid enough to actually consider this an excellent military strategy, never mind that it took away almost half of the loyalist army, and that Storm's End was considered to be impenetrable for a reason. They would be utterly useless, doing nothing to help. They would not even affect Baratheon's host, as his army was already gone, with only a small group of defenders holding the rebel lord's base of power. It was a stupid waste of time and men, and would leave the royalist army critically outnumbered in the war.

"Your messenger said that you discovered the location of Baratheon's host," Ned stated, putting it aside to be dealt with later.

Tarly nodded briskly. "It was clever of him," he admitted grudgingly. "He sent his army one way, back towards the Marchs to link up with the Dornish it appears. He himself is headed in the direction of the Riverlands, with just a small group. He was wounded gravely, it appears."

"Good," Ned said darkly, rising. "I will take my men and pursue him. I request that you take your own men and try to cut Baratheon's host off before they reach the Dornish."

"We will do it," Tarly agreed, also standing. They bowed to each other, then hastened off to make preparations. They both knew that there was no time to lose.

* * *

_**Riverrun: 26**__**th**__** September, 282 AC**_

"Lord Tully," Jon's voice was reasonable and calm as he spoke, trying to persuade the overlord of the Riverlands to their side. "Aerys is mad, you know this. And now Rhaegar has proven to have his father's insanity. He kidnapped an innocent maiden. The Targaryens must be put down, you are a clever man, you know this. Besides, in the contract that we were negotiating, we agreed to aid each other in military matters."

"There are those who say that Lady Elia went willingly with the prince," Lord Tully replied. Only Jon's hand being clamped firmly down on his knee kept Oberyn from leaping to his feet in anger. "And as for the contract, we had yet to sign it, and thus I am not obliged to go through with it."

"Enough of this," Oberyn interrupted, fed up with the delicate dancing around the core of the matter. They didn't have time for this!

Already so much time had been wasted by the time it had taken him to get to Sunspear and call for his banners. Robert had secured the Stormlands, taking care of his mutinous bannermen, and only the Daynes, who were distant kin to the Targaryens and had a son in the Kingsguard, had gone against Oberyn's order to fight against the dragons. Even the Yronwoods were enraged by Doran and his family's brutal murders. But Robert's had met Oberyn's own as they marched through the Marches, carrying word to him that Robert had failed in his attempt to gain control of Ashford to secure the Reach, and now he was hiding alone in the Stoney Sept, injured and in desperate need of aid. The Winterlander army, enraged by Magnar Rickard's death at Gulltown, were searching the Sept for him, and the higher-ranking people of the town had chosen to side with Ned Stark, though Robert had friends who were hiding him. They'd not manage to keep him hidden for long however, and time was of the essence. They needed the Riverlands' support. Oberyn ignored Jon's chiding look, leaning in to glare at Tully.

"What do you want in exchange for helping us?"

Tully studied him before replying. "Lord Elbert will marry Lysa immediately," he began. "And Lord Jon will sign a contract swearing not to remarry to try and have a child who will subvert his nephew's claim."

Jon nodded simply at that. It was a relatively small request given what they were asking for, and Oberyn knew that the Lord of the Eyrie had long since decided against a third marriage, not wanting to go through the heartache of losing a wife or child for the third time. Besides, Jon was old enough by now, even if his mind maintained its' sharpness and he was still spry enough. The likelihood would be that his hypothetical child would be a young child on its' father's death, whilst Elbert was a grown man and proven warrior. It was for the best that Elbert be his heir.

"I suppose that you intend to declare Lord Baratheon as King?" Lord Tully inquired casually, a sharp gleam in his eyes.

Oberyn and Jon exchanged cautious looks. Truth be told, that was not something they had discussed, but it did seem to be the most likely option. They had foresworn the Targaryens, and Robert had the best claim. The Martells had never wed into the Targaryens, nor had any Targaryen princesses been wed to them. And though Jon's family had supplied brides for House Targaryen on occasion, and Princess Daella, one of the daughters of the Conciliator and Good Queen Alysanne had married into the family once, her only child had been Queen Aemma, and so Jon had no real claim either. Robert, however, was the grandson of Princess Rhaelle, and thus the best option.

Oberyn understood politics enough to realize that much, at least.

"And if we do?" Jon replied, not showing a hint of emotion in his face.

"I assume that, in that case, his younger brother will be named as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands," Tully went on.

"Yes, he would be," Jon confirmed. Renly was only four, after all, and Stannis was Robert's heir until he had a child. With Robert as king, the Lord Paramountship would naturally fall to his next eldest brother.

"My daughter, Catelyn, will be betrothed to Lord Stannis, and wed him when the war is over," Tully stated firmly. "And the Riverlands will be exempt from taxes until we have repaired and recuperated from any war damages."

"Agreed," Jon said. They shook hands, and the matter was settled.

* * *

_**The Red Keep: 3**__**rd**__** December, 282 AC**_

The day was windy when Ser Jaime Lannister said farewell to Crown Prince Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armour, with the three-headed dragon done in rubies on his breastplate.

Jaime ran out to the courtyard and bowed, relieved that the prince gave him his attention. "Your Grace," Jaime pleaded, "let Stark stay to guard the king and his sister this once, or Ser Barristan or Darry. All of their cloaks are as white as mine."

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert," he sighed tiredly. "He wants you close, so that Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Jaime's anger rose up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

"Then guard the king," Ser Jonothor snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."

Rhaegar put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle is done I mean to call a council," he stated. "Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return. Remember, Ser Jaime, I am trusting you with the protection of my wife and children in your hands. I know that I can count on you to keep them safe until I return. I am trusting you with my family, the people who matter most to me in this world. Keep them safe for me."

"I will guard them with my life, my prince," Jaime replied solemnly. He resigned himself. He still wished to be going to the battle, not stuck here watching helplessly as Aerys grew ever more sadistic, yet he knew that he still had an important task. Prince Rhaegar and little Prince were the future of House Targaryen and the realm. He would keep the babe, his mother and sister safe until Rhaegar returned. And his words about change. Jaime could only assume (hope) that he meant to at last depose his sadistic and tyrannical father.

Finally.

"Keep my sister and her babes safe until I get back, Little Lion," Brandon Stark ordered him with a grin after at last separating from Barbrey, who was holding Melara on her hip and watching him worriedly. The little girl was smiling oblivious, unaware that she would never see her father again after he left. "And keep an eye on my girls too, if you can. If Lara says that you do it well enough, then when we come home, I'll even let you beat me in a spar. What'd'you say, little wolf cub?"

Melara laughed and clapped her hands, denying the possibility of anybody ever beating her adored (and ador_ing_) father in a fight.

Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen and Brandon Stark ever spoke to him. With that, the Prince of Dragonstone and Wild Wolf both mounted up, and rode forth to their deaths.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Hey guys, sorry that I couldn't update yesterday, something came up. So I ended up splitting the Robert's Rebellion interlude in two because it was reeaallyy long.**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Three**

**Robert's Rebellion II**

_**The Red Keep: 9**__**th**__** January, 283 AC**_

"Rhaegar is dead," Lyanna managed, with great effort, to keep her voice from shaking as she made the announcement.

He had shamed and hurt her deeply with his actions in regards to Elia Martell. But though she was angry with him, though he had failed to give her an adequate defence or explanation for his actions before leaving for the Trident, he was still her husband. She had been betrothed to him since she was but eight years old and he was the father of her children. He had always treated her respectfully and as a partner. She had always (until Elia Martell had come into the picture) felt cherished and appreciated by him. She loved him, and now they would never be able to repair their relationship, never raise their children together or implement any of the ideas and plans they had come up with together. It felt as if her heart, already broken by him leaving her and their children, had been shattered irreparably.

The others in the room with her, her friend and greenseer Lord Howland Reed, her guard, Rodrik Greystark and his wife Alayne of House Karstark, one of Lyanna's Crownlander ladies-in-waiting Melessa Celtigar of House Velaryon with her husband Tytos, a cousin of the Head of House, her almost-goodsister Barbrey, and Ben, all paled at the news. Melara was playing in the corner with her doll, and the twins slept in their cradle. They were unaware of the terrible news and the impact it would have on them.

Thank the Gods for small mercies. Her children were too young to grieve their father's death. She tried to tell herself that it was a good thing, they'd not feel the anguish she did when her mother died when she was a little girl, or the pain of receiving Ned's letter informing her and the boys of their father's death at Gulltown. Her father, and now her brother and husband. Why was her family being punished? Had their failure to stop Aerys before he escalated to murdering innocent little girls and Lord Paramounts brought this on their Houses?

Gods, she desperately and selfishly wished that she had not sent Aly away to help Ashara during her own pregnancy. She had never needed her twin sister more. She feared that she would never lay eyes on Aly again, a thought that made her want to despair. They had never even said a proper goodbye, assuming that they would be reunited within a few moons. Had things gone in their favour, Aly would probably be back with her at Dragonstone by now, or perhaps here in the keep, with Aerys deposed. No doubt their father would finally have turned his attention to Aly's own marriage, and things would have been wonderful.

But her husband had run off with another, betrothed, lady, and wrecked everything along with his father. Now Lyanna was left to deal with the consequences, and protect her family as best she could.

"The battle was lost," she continued stoically, keeping her emotions from her face and tone. "All of the Kingsguard there are dead, save for Selmy, who has sworn his sword to the rebels."

Barbrey let out an anguished sob at that, covering her mouth in grief. Lya longed to do the same, to break down into a fit of howling her grief at the deaths of her brother and husband, and gods only knew how many of their people, people that she was supposed to protect and care for. But in spite of Rhaegar's death she was still a Princess of the Realm, a Magnara of the Winterlands, and she knew that she could not.

She had never missed Aly's presence more. Were her twin here, Lyanna would be able to break down in privacy with her sister. Instead, she had to stay strong for the others, who were looking to her for guidance, as if due to her status she had some ability to save them all. If that were true, she would not be a widow now, and it would be Rhaegar who was on his way home to overthrow his father, not the Dornish, as her husband had gravely wounded Baratheon in the battle.

"The rebel army is advancing on the capital," she went on. "We have perhaps two moons, maybe a little longer at the most, before they arrive. The West has at last begun to move their army, but I do not trust them. I doubt that Lord Tywin, who has ignored the call to arms by both sides this whole time, would stir to save us just after Rhaegar's death. Not when the only heirs are children. Aerys has slighted him greatly, and the Old Lion does not tolerate such things."

That was why, in spite of liking him quite a bit, Lyanna had not called for the sole remaining Kingsguard in the keep to come to the meeting. She felt a surge of anger at the recollection of why, exactly, her children only had one whitecloak to guard them, the youngest and most inexperienced one at that.

Her husband had left three of the royal family's personal guards to guard his concubine. She had not wanted to spend their last night together before marched to war arguing, least the worst occur, and so she had not gotten deep into the discussion.

"Why did you do it?" was all that she had asked, receiving a guilty look and vow of love in response. She had not been able to delve further into it, saying they would speak properly after his return from the battle. Her heart ached with rage and hurt. She did not, could not, comprehend why he had acted in this way. Why was she not, why were their children not enough for him? Was it just because he wanted more heirs? He had always been worried about how much his House had been cut down in recent decades. But Lyanna could still have children. She could have given him a dozen sons and daughters, if only he could have waited a few moons for her body to recover.

But those babes would never be born, as her husband was dead. Now, she had to focus on keeping her children safe and alive. At least Rhaella and Viserys had already been sent to safety at Dragonstone. She wished she, or at least the children, had gone with them, but Aerys was now convinced that Ned (and by extension the Winterlands as a whole) was a traitor too, and she and her children were to be hostages (not that they had not been hostages since the start of the war).

Or rather, _she_ was to be a hostage, because she'd not allow her children to die if she had anything to say about it.

"You remember the plan I approached you about?" Lyanna asked, looking at the Greystarks and Celtigars. They nodded, looking pained but resolved. She was so very grateful for their loyalty, even as she was nearly sick with guilt at what she was going to do.

The Celtigars (second cousins to the head of the House) had a daughter with silver hair and purple eyes, just a moon older than Lya's children. The Greystarks (nephew of Lord Greystark and niece of Lord Karstark) had a son, two moons younger than the twins but close enough to Aegon's size. Neither child was likely to live past infancy due to different illnesses, and both looked similar enough to Lyanna's children that people would be able to mix them up if they did not know the children well. They had agreed to swap out the babes, and Howland would smuggle Lyanna's children first to Essos, and then he would judge what to do next based on the outcome of the war.

Whatever happened, Howland would ensure that her children were safe. At this point, Lyanna had no care for anything else, and the only reason she'd ever cared for the Iron Throne at all was because of the potential ways that she could improve the lives of her people. If her son never sat on the blasted chair, but survived and grew, then so be it. His inheritance was a small price to pay for his life.

"Thank you for this," she whispered to the parents who were risking their children for her own. "I promise, I will do all that I can to see them safe."

They nodded, Lady Celtigar's purple eyes swimming with tears, and Alayne Greystark looking so stoic she had to be breaking into pieces inside.

They all knew that they had as good as sealed their children's fates. It did not matter that Vaella Celtigar was ill already, unlikely to live out the year, or that Cregan Greystark often had trouble breathing and the healers said he would likely suffer from health issues all his life, if he miraculously survived his infancy. What mattered was that there had been hope for the children to live, and now there was none.

* * *

_**The Red Keep: 13**__**th**__** March, 283 AC**_

"Burn them all!" Aerys cried, cackling madly. "Light the wildfire, and let Baratheon be king of a city of ashes!"

Jaime froze in horror. Princess Lyanna had covered her mouth in shock. Both of them were paralyzed, unable to move as the trio of pyromancers all dashed out, excited grins on their faces.

"Burn them all!" Aerys continued to laugh madly. He had risen from his throne and was waving aimlessly as he paced the Great Hall, continuing to repeat his words, "Burn them all!" over and over again.

Princess Lyanna moved first. Jaime could not even twitch, either to help or hinder her, as she unsheathed the sword at her side, and, without a word, shoved the weapon straight into the Mad King's back. Aerys gurgled, choking on his own blood as he fell to his knees.

'_At last' _Jaime thought numbly. _'He is dead at last.'_

"Ser Jaime," she turned to him. "Go and find the pyromancers, kill them before they can go through with lighting those caches. Then defend the city."

Jaime's eyes widened and he instinctively shook his head. "Your Grace, I am sworn to protect you!" he exclaimed. "As a Kingsguard-"

"And as a knight, you are sworn to protect innocents!" the short-term Queen Regent cut him off sharply. Her grey eyes were almost black, her jaw was tight and her dress stained with Aerys' blood. She looked fierce and regal. Not for the first time, Jaime wondered what madness had caused Rhaegar to turn from her to Elia Martell. How could the lady possibly compare to Lyanna Stark? "Those innocents who are being butchered right now!" she went on. "And if the pyromancers light those caches-"

"You must leave, Your Grace, I beseech you," he interrupted her to beg desperately. "Take the King and Princess and flee!"

She shook her head, with an expression that was much too resigned and much too old and tired for a lady of five-and-ten. "My children are as safe as they could possibly be under these circumstances," she answered. "Your father's men have taken over the city, and they will not let us live. We would never make it to the docks. And anyway, my duty as the Queen Regent is to do anything that I can to keep the people under my protection safe. I shall not go down in history as a craven of a Stark, who fled and abandoned others to die in my place. If I am to enter Valhalla tonight, I shall do so knowing that I fought to the last breath to protect my people, as is my duty as the Queen Regent of Westeros."

"My queen-" he pled, one last desperate time.

She reached out to cup his jaw and smile sadly. "Do not be so worried for me, Ser Jaime," she said as lightly as possible given what was going on, which was not light at all. "I am a Stark and a Targaryen. Neither direwolves nor dragons are easy to kill. Now, go. Protect the people as best you can. They need it more than I."

And so he did, with the memory of the last conversation he ever had with Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark permanently emblazoned in his mind.

* * *

_**The Tower of Joy: 20**__**th**__** April, 283 AC**_

Arthur entered the bedchamber with a blank expression to cover his rage, a letter crumpled in his fist. Princess Elia was alone. She was laying in the bed, her face angled to stare out the window.

She did not look well. Her skin was pale and pasty, there were dark shadows beneath her eyes and she seemed to have lost a great deal of weight since news had arrived of the Trident, and Rhaegar's death. His death at the hands of her brother and former betrothed.

Arthur clenched his jaw. Elia had pleaded with the prince not to kill Oberyn, to spare him. Rhaegar had agreed, and Arthur was sure that was part of the reason he had died. He had not given the fight his all, not wanting to kill his goodbrother. And now he was dead.

Arthur was a Dornishman, and his sister had once been Lady Elia's best friend. He had been three years their elder, and uninterested in playing with them, but he had thought Lady Elia to be a sweet, compassionate lady. But now, he could only see the results of her selfishness when he looked at her. Had she not responded to Rhaegar's letters, had she done her duty and wed Baratheon, none of this would have happened.

He hated her for triggering the war almost as much as he hated himself for failing in his duty as a Kingsguard to protect the royal family.

"Ser Arthur?" Princess Elia twisted her head to look at him when he entered, looking surprised. "What is it?" Fear flickered across her expression. "What has happened?"

Of course she knew that he had news for her. The last time he or his Sworn Brothers had spoken to her, it had been to tell her that Rhaegar was dead. None of them had made any secret of their opinions of her, that they believed her to be at fault for the war. They would obey their prince's command and fight to the death to protect his second (and only surviving) wife and the babe she carried, but that didn't mean they had to like her, or speak with her. Wylla looked after her, they protected her.

"King's Landing has been sacked by the rebels," Arthur informed her curtly. Her eyes went wide.

"My brother-" her voice was small and fearful.

"Lord Martell is well, so far as I know," Arthur cut her off briskly. "But Princess Lyanna and her children, _your_ stepchildren, are not."

"What do you mean?" Her voice barely went above a whisper, and her expression was filled with dread.

"The Lannisters declared for the rebels," Arthur told her. "They attacked the city after arriving under the guise of reinforcements. Every Winterlander in the city was slaughtered. Princess Lyanna and her children were all murdered. The princess died fighting to defend the keep, and the babes were killed when one of her ladies was found trying to hide them. The Usurper spat on the bodies and said 'good riddance to the dragonspawn', apparently. Our location has been revealed, and they are coming for us."

She shook her head in horror, a frail hand covering her mouth and tears welling in her dark eyes.

"Gods willing, the child will be born before they arrive. As soon as the babe is born, we shall have to flee," Arthur continued stoically. "As it is now the heir to the Iron Throne, and the Usurper will never suffer it to live."

She began to speak, but he did not give her the chance. Instead he turned and stalked out again. He forced himself to blink, because when he did he saw Princess Lyanna, lying in bed and weak as a newborn kitten after birthing her children, with a glowing smile lighting up her face as she held them, needing the support of pillows to keep hold of them.

"I'm so sorry, my princess," he whispered to her, fighting the tears that were pricking his own eyes.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

Elia watched, trembling, as Arthur slammed the door behind him. She was not a fool, she had quickly realized that her guards hated her, that they blamed her for the war. She also knew that they were right.

If she had never responded to Rhaegar's first letter, written and sent to her in a haze of nightmare-induced stress and tiredness, if she had not agreed to elope with him, then none of this would have happened.

It was so incredibly foolish of her. What had she thought would happen? That they would live happily ever after like in some song? Rhaegar already had a wife and two children by the time of their marriage. The whole reason she had been unhappy about her betrothal to Robert was because she had known that he would not be true to her. Yet somehow, the fact that she would be his secondary wife had never mattered when it came to Rhaegar.

She felt a sob break free and cradled her swollen stomach. She was such a naïve fool. She had left a letter for Doran when she'd left, assuring him she was going willingly and they'd return after being wed. She had not considered the political consequences of their actions, nor had she thought of Princess Lyanna and how the magnara would feel about becoming one of two wives, without being given even a warning, let alone a choice.

This war, the deaths of her husband and brother, of their families, was all her fault. And soon enough, she too would be dead. She knew in her heart that she was not going to survive the birth of her child. Her health had never been wonderful at the best of times, and this was certainly not so. She would have given in to her despair and guilt-ridden grief already, had it not been for the babe growing in her stomach.

She was just clinging to life long enough to birth her child and ensure they were safe, and then she would go on to her reward. Or, more likely given what she had started, her punishment.

The babe kicked, and Elia rubbed her stomach soothingly. They are coming for us, Ser Arthur had said. They was the rebels, obviously, but whom? She could only pray for it to be Oberyn, not Robert. Robert who had had her stepchildren murdered.

Bile rose in her throat. He would do the same to her child as well, she knew it. Her only hope was that Oberyn would arrive first, without Robert. Oberyn would protect her child. The Dornish did not hold the sins of the parent against a child, and he was fighting this war because he mistakenly believed her to have been kidnapped and raped, to avenge their brother and Doran's family. Oberyn would keep her babe safe for her.

"Please," she prayed desperately, to the Seven she had been raised to follow and to the Old Gods who ruled the kingdom she was hiding within. "Please, let Oberyn arrived first. Have mercy on my child. I know that I will die and suffer in the hells for what I have brought on Westeros, but please, have mercy. My child is innocent. Let Oberyn arrive first, without Robert. Please."

That prayer was all she could do now.

* * *

_**The Tower of Joy: 24**__**th**__** June, 283 AC**_

Oberyn had begun to dismount from his horse even before the animal had fully stopped moving. His companions, six of them, were quick to join him. With him had come Alaric Dayne of High Hermitage, the side of the House that had chosen the Martells over the Targaryens, Benedict Dalt, brothers Garin and Gerris Wells, Quentyn Qorgyle and Olyvar Blackmont. All of them brave knights, loyal to his House and tested by battle. He had handpicked them from the group he had chosen to help him escort the Starks' bodies to Winterfell. That group waited for his return just beyond the border to the Riverlands, where they had ridden to after disembarking from their ship at Seaguard. If he neither returned nor sent a message within the next fortnight, they would assume that he was dead and act accordingly.

His anger and bloodlust coursed through him as he took in the three men who were standing between him and his sister.

Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a stoic expression on his face. The hilt of the legendary greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. The sight of him further increased Oberyn's fury. To know that a Dornishman had taken part in stealing his sister, had helped start this ungodly slaughter, infuriated and shamed him. Ser Oswell Whent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Across his white-enamelled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. He raised his head to look at them as they arrived. Between them stood fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"I looked for you on the Trident where Robert and I killed your prince," Oberyn stated coolly, readying his spear and studying them. At his side, his men also prepared for the battle. It would be hard, Oberyn knew. The swampy terrain of the Neck was not what any of them were used to. None of them had any sort of practice with it. The three Kingsguard, however, had had moons at least to become familiar with it. They had the advantage of familiarity, if not numbers. Not to mention, whilst he had confidence in his own skills and those of his men, these men were a part of the Kingsguard for a reason.

"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell as he stood, gripping his sword. "And to you as well!"

Oberyn smiled sharply, all fang and venom like the snake that was his namesake. "When King's Landing fell, Aerys impaled himself on his own throne, Princess Lyanna and her children were killed, and I wondered where you were. Why were the Kingsguard not guarding their king?"

The deaths of Princess Lyanna and her babes had contributed to his rage as he had left the capital with her body and those of her kin. They did not deserve to suffer for Rhaegar's actions. He dreaded bringing the corpses to Winterfell and telling the Starks of Robert's decree, but he knew it was necessary. Jon had warned him that, if Alysanne Stark did not become his bride, then she would likely become Tywin Lannister's. To be wed to the man behind her twin's death, to Tywin Lannister who was renowned for his cruelty and cold nature, was a fate that no lady deserved.

"Far away," Ser Gerold replied to his earlier words. "Or Aerys would yet sit on the Iron Throne, and his gooddaughter and grandchildren would live, their killers burning in the seven hells."

"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys," Oberyn commented. "I thought that you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," Dayne acknowledged.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Hightower pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now," agreed Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.

Oberyn's men readied themselves. Alaric glowered at his cousin, who met his gaze evenly.

"And now it begins," the Sword of the Morning declared. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Oberyn corrected him coldly. "Now it ends." As they came together in a rush of steel and yells, he could hear Elia screaming, her voice somehow louder than any other sound. He did not know if she was truly screaming, or if she was merely his imagination, but either way it invigorated him, reinforcing his determination to save her.

The fight was short and vicious, and by the end only Oberyn still stood. Hightower had fallen to Dayne and Dalt, taking the pair with him. Whent had died at the hands of the Wells brothers after slaying Blackmont. Finally, Oberyn, the Wells brothers (both injured from their fight against Whent) and Qorgyle had stood and fought against Dayne.

To the man's credit, he had held up well against his four countrymen, quickly defeating the injured brothers and badly wounding Qorgyle enough to take him out of the fight so that only Oberyn remained to stand against him.

Oberyn had feared he would lose, for he was far out-classed by the other man, but Qorgyle was not as defeated as they had believed. With the last remnants of his strength, Quentyn had thrown his knife at the Sword of Morning. It had not been a fatal hit, but it was enough to mate the man stumble as the blade sliced into his leg, allowing Oberyn to step forward and shove his spear right through the man's neck.

When he dashed to Quentyn, the man was gurgling out his last breaths, and Oberyn was helpless to aid him in any way.

He swore violently as Qorgyle's eyes glazed over into the stare of death, and hit the ground with his fist in helpless rage. Six men had bravely joined him on this quest, and now they were all dead.

Then Elia screamed again. This time, Oberyn was certain it was really her.

"Elia!" Oberyn cried. He turned and raced into the keep, dashing up the steps two at a time, following his sister's screams.

He flung himself into the room, spear still in hand, and then froze in shock at the sight.

There she was, struggling to support a small bundle that was crying in the familiar tones of a newborn child. Elia's face was flushed with fever and her breathing so ragged he could detect it even from the doorway. There was a woman, no doubt a maid, trying to help, but it was clear that she was no midwife, and lost as to how to help his sister.

"Elia," he croaked. She turned her head in his direction weakly, her eyes glassy and movements weak.

"Oberyn?" she murmured. "Brother? Is that you? Are you here?"

"I am," he confirmed, hurrying to her side and collapsing to his knees beside her. Gods, there was so much blood. How could any lady survive losing so much blood? He knew in his heart that she could not, that even without taking all of the blood into account her fever was already sapping her life away. He could not believe it, however. He had lost his brother already, the Seven could not be so cruel as to take Elia as well.

"I am here," he continued, stroking her cheek and trying not to flinch at the heat coming from her. "I am here to take you home."

"Home," she mumbled. Her eyes filled with tears. "I want to go home."

Then she looked stricken, reaching for him weakly. He grasped her hand and held it tightly in one of his own, while the other stroked some hair from her face. Her face was clammy and frighteningly hot.

He turned to snap at the maid. "Is there no maester?" he demanded. "A midwife?"

The maid shook her head helplessly. "No, milord," she replied despairingly. "The babe came early, we had no time."

Oberyn growled in angry helplessness, looking back to his sister, who was weakly attempting to regain his attention. She relaxed slightly when he turned back to her.

"I am so sorry!" she gasped. "I never meant-neither of us thought all of this would happen. I am so sorry Oberyn. Doran and the others-Mellario and Arianne-"

"It is not your fault," he assured her. "It was Rhaegar's fault, Rhaegar and Aerys. But they paid for it Sister. I promise you, our brother and his family are avenged."

Fear crossed her face then, much to his dismay.

"So it is true?" she gasped. "Did Robert really have Rhaegar's children killed?"

"Tywin Lannister ordered the children's deaths," Oberyn replied, unable to lie and yet unable to speak against Robert, even furious as he was with him. When his rage had calmed, Oberyn was certain that his old friend would be horrified by what had happened.

Elia still looked frightened. Rejuvenated somewhat by her fear, she clutched the squalling babe closer to her breast with one arm, her other hand reaching out to grab his tunic.

"Oberyn, you must promise me you'll protect her!" she gasped out, voice desperate and eyes wild. "Promise me that you will protect Rhaenys, that you will keep her safe for me! Promise me! Promise me Brother!"

It was easy to understand that Rhaenys was the name of the babe she held, and that the girl was Elia and Rhaegar's child. It was even easier to answer her, his voice full of firm determination.

"Nobody will ever harm a hair on her head," he vowed. Elia smiled in relief at that. She lost her grip on his tunic, as her chest ceased to move as her hold on Rhaenys slackened.

The maid lunged, grabbing the child before anything could happen, whilst Oberyn stared at his sister, trying to comprehend her death. He had fought a war to try and save her and avenge their brother, yet he had arrived only moments before her death.

Fury and grief took over, and he spent the next moments in a red haze, destroying furniture and shaking her body, as if he could somehow force her spirit back into her body.

It was Rhaenys' wails that brought him back to himself. A proud father of two young girls, bastards or no, the familiar sound of a crying babe broke through his grief-induced fit. He turned towards the sound, finding the maid cowering in the corner with his niece held tightly to her chest, staring fearfully at him as if she thought he might lunge at her next.

He held out his hands, jaw tight. "Give me my niece," he barked. She was clearly reluctant to hand over the child, but she hesitantly placed the babe into his arms, hovering near as if she thought to rip the babe away from him if he appeared about to harm the babe.

He admired the maid's loyalty, if nothing else.

He studied the child he held, relieved to see that Rhaenys was Dornish through-and-through. Her nose was Elia's, her colouring the darkness of the Salty Dornish. Thank the Gods for small mercies, because if she'd been like her elder half-sister, with silver hair and purple eyes, he had no idea what he'd do to hide her. He flinched away from the thought of poor little Princess Daenerys, her tiny head beaten in, and clutched Rhaenys closer to him. The child was his blood, and Elia had pled for her safety with her last breaths. He needed to keep her safe.

"Who are you?" he demanded, eyeing the servant tensely.

She swallowed and answered. "Wylla, milord," she muttered nervously. "I serve House Dayne. They employed me to tend Princess Elia, when it became obvious that, that a wetnurse would be needed. My boy was gone by then, but I still had my milk."

Oberyn locked his jaw. So, the Kingsguard had not bothered to find a maester or even a Scholar to tend his ill sister? Only a wetnurse. Damn them all to the seven hells. Then something in her wording caught his attention. "_Princess_ Elia?" he repeated. "She was a lady, not a princess."

Wylla shook her head. "No, my lord," she corrected him anxiously, smoothing out her bloody apron. "She and Prince Rhaegar wed. They had a dispensation from the High Septon, granting the Prince leave to take a second wife."

Oberyn felt his breath leave him in a hiss at the implicit confirmation that Elia had gone willingly, not been kidnapped as he had believed up until that day. What had Doran died for, then? What had any of their people fought and died over, if Elia had not been kidnapped as he had believed? How many widows were weeping right now due to his sister and Rhaegar's actions? He forced himself to set those thoughts aside, unable to deal with the revelation at the moment.

"My lord," Wylla spoke hesitantly. "What will you do with Princess Rhaenys?"

Oberyn looked down at his niece again. She had stopped crying, and had fallen asleep. He made a quick decision. "There is no Princess Rhaenys," he declared. "There has been none since the Queen Who Never Was. Nor was my sister married to anybody. This is my bastard daughter, Nymeria Sand. You will be her wetnurse."

He could not allow her to leave unless it was under his supervision, or that of somebody he trusted utterly. And he would obtain a vow of silence about Rhaenys' true identity from her also. She was the only other person alive who knew the truth, and Oberyn would not allow Elia's daughter to suffer the same fate as her siblings.

* * *

_**Winterfell: 17**__**th**__** July, 283 AC**_

"My magnar," the guard came rushing in and bowed to Ned. Aly recognized the man as Jory Cassel, Martyn Cassel's son who was quickly climbing the ranks of the Ice Guard (due partially to his skills and partially to the many deaths suffered by their people over the past year).

"What is it?" the recuperating new Lord of Winterfell demanded tensely. He grabbed his cane and forced himself to his feet. Aly and Ashara also stood, Shara cradling little Artos close to her breast.

"They are here," Jory stated simply, expression grim.

Aly stiffened, as did her brother and goodsister. She felt her hands start to tremble, and clutched tightly at her skirts to hide the shake.

Around a moon previous, a raven had come from Moat Cailin. Lord Wolfshield, the Lord of the Moat and Guardian of the Neck, had written to inform them that the Usurper's Snake had arrived with a small host, not enough to be considered threatening, and was requesting to be allowed passage to Winterfell.

He was there to escort the bodies of her family home for burial.

"I see," Ned said coolly. She saw his fists clench tightly on the cane. In the Battle of the Bells, the Usurper had shattered Ned's legbones from the knee down with his great warhammer as they fought. Like as not, his leg would never be the same, as the nerves had been damaged. Had it not been for the sacrifices of Theo Wull and Martyn Cassel, she'd have lost him too. As it was, he had been forced to return from the front, as his leg would not allow him to fight, though it was only after the Sack that he had returned home with their army. They had still been two weeks away when word had come of the destruction of King's Landing. Ned had sent men to Dragonstone to help Queen Regent Rhaella and the young King Viserys, whilst the rest of them returned home, wounded and full of anger and grief over the events.

"Inform them that they may enter, but must leave their weapons outside of the castle grounds," Ned ordered. "If they refuse to surrender their weapons,_ all _of them, then they will not receive guest right. If they consent to my demands, then you may give them bread and salt."

"We ought to serve them poison," Aly said spitefully after Jory had bowed and left. "Not bread and salt. They are a bunch of childkilling traitors, who is to say that their word is trustworthy?"

Ned simply sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sorrow aging him. "We must get ready to greet them in the courtyard," he muttered.

"They will not be given rooms," Aly half-stated, half-pled. She could not bear the thought of hosting the rebels in her home. Especially not when she was preparing for her siblings' cremations and the internments of their ashes.

"They will not," Ned agreed freely, relieving her.

"I will take Artos to his nursery, and meet you there," Ashara murmured. She looked tired, and Aly felt a jab of pity for her lovely goodsister. Ashara was a good woman. It could not be easy for her, being split between loyalty to her family (both marital and maiden, for the Daynes had resisted the Snake's call and fought for the dragons.) and to her native kingdom. And Shara had once been Elia Martell's dearest friend. The knowledge of what her former friend had done, what she had caused, weighed heavily on Ashara's shoulders.

Aly helped her brother down to the courtyard, surveying the yard on their arrival. It was full of armed guards, and the servants hovered in the background. Everybody wore similar mourning clothes in her, in the form of hair in intricate braids and plain woollen dresses or tunic with grey triskeles, the symbol of life, death and spirit for her people.

Ashara arrived and joined them, just as the gates swung open. Only a single banner for the Martells was raised, and the Dornishmen formed two columns. They were carrying six coffins, two of which were painfully small, and surely held the bones of Melara and Lya's infant twins.

Aly felt her breath catch in her chest, and she barely noticed the man at the head of the procession until he was bowing before them.

Oberyn Martell, the Usurper's Snake and the brother of the woman who had caused all of this grief for Aly's family.

She hated him on sight.


End file.
